The Walking Dead: The Chorus
by 21melpomene
Summary: Do NOT read if you have not seen The Walking Dead Season 5 Mid-Season Finale entitled "Coda" and wish not to have it spoiled. For everyone else, this lengthy one-shot takes place directly after the episode's final events. Here alongside our survivors, we navigate grief, guilt, and the absence and abundance of hope. -Some Richonne, Glaggie, and Caryl-friendship for those interested.


**A/N**: While we're waiting for the second half of season 5 to air, I thought I'd pen more filler, setting the scene directly after the events of 508. What inspired this wasn't so much the big death itself, but rather the others' raw reactions and the loss of what the character represented… I'd like to honor that representation as well as those left behind. (For those interested in Richonne details, in following with the continuity established in my previous fic, the two are a secret, long-time couple.) Thanks for reading! HURRY UP, FEBRUARY.

**Disclaimer**: I own neither "The Walking Dead" nor the rights to any of its characters or material (Robert Kirkman, AMC, and their affiliates reserve all rights).

From yards away inside the grungy fire truck, Carl heard Maggie's anguished cry. Gingerly but quickly, he stuffed his little sister into the makeshift papoose, hefted her onto his back, withdrew his gun, and exited. He approached the group, dread filling his body with every measured step.

"What's going on?"

Nearly everyone turned in muted surprise. Tara and Rosita attempted to block his path, but Carl easily elbowed his way between them. He shrugged out of Michonne's reach and came to a stop in front of Rick, who had also staggered forward to shield Daryl from view. Once Carl saw the trauma in his father's eyes, his own began to well with tears.

His voice rose an octave: "Dad? What…"

Rick's lips formed his son's name, but no sound issued forth.

Carl finally peeked around his father. A cloud of sorrow burst within him.

"Beth?"

At the strangled sound of her name, Daryl clamped his eyes shut even more tightly. Crumpled on the ground, Maggie lowered her forehead, her sobs kissing the pavement where her sister had once lain.

As his son's tears spilled over, Rick drew him into his arms. He stroked Judith's hair with one hand as Carl cried into his shirt.

The group's grief spoke volumes, especially to a number of nearby walkers.

"We need to go," Rick croaked.

"Don't let 'em crowd the vehicle; come on," Abraham echoed, leading the way back toward the truck.

Carl removed his head from Rick's chest, sniffed, and began to follow the others. Michonne put an arm around his shoulders to hurry him along, but then stopped him when she spied a red smear under his right eye. Giving Rick's soiled T-shirt a sideways glance, she hastily cleared Beth's blood off Carl's cheek with her thumb, mumbling, "You need your eyes clear out here."

Carl nodded and administered a cursory swipe across his face with his sleeve. He trailed Michonne as she charged forward to slice through the heads of two advancing walkers, but peered back at the group members who lagged behind.

Glenn pulled Maggie upright and, supporting her with one hand, used the other to fire his gun. Tyreese acted as a crutch for Carol while Sasha assisted Noah. Rick covered them as well as Daryl, who cradled Beth's lifeless form more securely than ever.

After plowing their way through fifteen walkers, the survivors boarded the fire engine and took off. The cramped conditions forced them to sit or stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Carol and Maggie sat in the back on either side of Daryl, who held Beth propped up in his lap. Maggie clasped her sister's limp hand in both of her own. She refused to look up from the floor. Crammed into the corner, Eugene stared out the window with sightless eyes, as if even his eyelids couldn't bear to witness the sad sight beside him.

Glenn, Rick, Michonne, and Carl stood to the right while Tyreese and Noah balanced themselves on the left. Tara, Sasha, and Rosita had jammed themselves into the front with Abraham, who was navigating his way toward the outskirts of Atlanta. He made no effort to veer away from a large, half-melted walker that had fused with the street. Spotting the lab coat it donned, he in fact chose to gun it.

The minor jounce forced Father Gabriel, who had been standing awkwardly in the center of the truck, to his knees. Before him, he beheld the grief-stricken trio in the backseat, his eyes coming to settle on the quiet, pixie-like beauty of Beth Greene. Save for the rivulet of blood that muddied her fair hair, the young woman appeared to be in the throes of a tranquil slumber. Even now, like this, she exhibited a peace Gabriel knew he would never find, but could still appreciate.

The priest clasped his hands, bowed his head, and began to recite a prayer.

"Gabriel," Glenn whispered.

Innocently, he looked up and instantly ceased, cowering under the might of Daryl's hollow glower.

Gently gripping his wife's shoulder, Glenn spoke again. "Not now. You need to wait until the funeral. Just… not here. Not now."

Averting his eyes, Gabriel gave a slight nod and inched backward before endeavoring to rise. A sharp turn knocked him flat on his rear. Drawing his legs inward, he resigned himself to the floor.

In her papoose, Judith wriggled and fussed until she worked an arm free. Out of his peripheral vision, Carl saw her stretch in the direction of the backseat… as if she were reaching for her long-lost caretaker.

A lump swelled in his throat. He took a shaky breath and lifted his left hand, offering his sister a couple of fingers. She took them and held on.

Michonne slipped an arm around Carl. As Judith rested her cheek on her brother's back, he rested his head against their surrogate mother. Over the skewed sheriff's hat, she gave its original owner a significant look.

"We need a place," Rick declared. "We have supplies, but we always need more." To Michonne, he inquired, "How much formula have you got on you?"

"Not enough. We were attacked; we didn't have time to grab much of anything."

Rick turned to Noah. "Do you know of any day care centers around here?"

The teen peered out the windshield to study their location. "I haven't been out here in a while, but one of the wards I worked with mentioned she used to work nearby at a day care."

"Where?" Rick asked.

Noah probed his memories. "Ugh, I don't know…"

"Come on, man," Tyreese encouraged. "You gotta remember."

His statement struck Noah deeply. Lament washed over him. He _did_ have to remember. Whether it had been advertent or inadvertent, Beth had sacrificed her life for his freedom—he couldn't dishonor her selflessness, not for a second, not for one simple thing. He owed her and he owed her family.

Sorting out the details in his head, the young man leaned over Gabriel, bracing himself on the back of the front seat. "Turn left up here," he directed.

Abraham obeyed but grunted, "Know where you're goin', kid? 'Cause we don't have the gas to be out sightseeing in the middle of Cadaver City."

"I know where we're going," Noah proclaimed. He clutched the seat. "We'll get there."

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Deftly dodging small groups of the undead, Abraham rolled around the edge of Atlanta until coming upon the day care to which Noah had referred. He parked behind the ivy-laced brick building and one by one, the survivors filed out. Maggie, Daryl, Carol, Glenn, and an unconscious Eugene remained.

Rick quietly allocated assignments to the people present: Abraham and Rosita were to venture along the outskirts in a quest for leftover fuel; Tyreese and Sasha were to follow and search for food, water, and batteries; Tara and Gabriel would work on rousing Eugene; and he, Carl, Michonne, and Noah would work on fortification/nighttime camouflage and scavenge for miscellaneous supplies within the center.

Once the group had dispatched the few walkers inside the center and around the surrounding area, Daryl stiffly carried Beth across the threshold with Maggie close behind. Carol and Glenn disembarked from the bus, watching their loved ones vanish inside, each of their faces a mask of anguish and concern.

Plodding into the playroom, Daryl carefully placed Beth's body on one of the blue naptime mats the others had pulled out. Maggie knelt beside him. As if she couldn't bear not to hold on to her sister in some respect, Maggie again took Beth's hand in hers and kissed the fingers that poked out of the cast. Daryl felt a dim awareness that suggested he leave the room, but he couldn't move. Grief and regret had rooted him to the carpet, just as they had taken root in his spirit, cracking it into pieces, absorbing them, consuming them, burning them into ashes…

He wasn't sure he could get up again, nor was he sure he wanted to.

Outside, the group dispersed, each faction solemnly off to its own mission.

"Look sharp," Rick called as a last-minute warning. He caught Sasha's and Tyreese's nods of acknowledgement.

"Yeah," Abraham grumbled. He waved his hand dismissively. Rosita, however, craned around and mouthed an affirmative.

Gabriel and Tara climbed into the truck to tend to Eugene as Rick strode over to his partner and children.

Michonne lifted Judith from Carl's pack. "Yep, she needs changing. Thought I saw a pack of diapers in one of the open cupboards while we were clearing the place. We'll get fixed up and come find you."

Rick nodded.

Shifting Judith onto her hip, Michonne gave Carl's arm a tender squeeze before taking his sibling inside.

"Carl." Rick waited for his son to look at him, but when he continued to stare at the ground, Rick sank down onto one knee. "Hey."

The dejected teen blinked and finally found his father's eyes.

"Listen, I know how you feel. We all feel it, but there are still thangs that need to be done and I'm gonna need your help, okay?"

As Carl blinked again, his gaze slid away.

"What do you want to do, Carl? It's your pick, and I'm with you all the way if you wanna talk. Do you wanna help me strengthen the place? I doubt we'll be here too long, but there are plenty-a little thangs we can do to increase security for the night. Or do you wanna help Michonne look around—"

"Rick?"

Correcting his posture, Rick swiveled to face Carol.

"If you guys don't mind, Noah and I would like to sweep the rooms. We—"

"You should both rest, stay off your feet."

Carol shook her head. Her gem-like eyes shone brightly. "The last thing either of us wants or needs to do is sit. If we sit, we stop. If we stop, we're gonna think… Nobody wants to think right now, Rick."

He considered her words. Sadly, she was right. There was no sense to be made of the act that had taken Beth's life and dwelling on the nonsensical at the end of the world was dangerous. There was a time to honor her, but that time was not now. They had jobs to do.

Rick paused for Carl's response and when it didn't come, he agreed they would dress the rooms for the night and leave the interior scavenging to Carol and Noah.

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"Dad?"

Rick fitted a multicolored poster board against one of the day care's window panes. "Yeah?"

Carl picked listlessly at the roll of masking tape in his hand. "What happened with Beth?"

Rick sighed, his back to his son. "Their leader… she shot her."

"Why?" Carl asked, his voice tinged with a melancholic heat.

"She tried to go back on the arrangement we made and Beth stood up to her, stabbed her with a pair-a scissors."

Without turning around, he could already sense the shock and horror emanating from behind him.

"What?"

"And then she was gone."

After a few seconds, Carl closed his mouth and shook his head once. Eyeing the hunched figure before him, he tried to think of something to say—anything that could soften Rick's trek through the recollection. "It… it must've happened pretty fast."

"It did."

"Dad, I'm sorry."

When Rick spoke, Carl didn't hear the reply of a man who was weary from carrying around the weight of the world, but rather of one who was worn by his ostensible inability to move at all: "_I'm_ sorry, Carl. I'm sorry we didn't save her."

Carl tore off a strip of tape and handed it to his father. "It doesn't really sound like you could have."

Rick didn't answer. He slid his fingers back and forth along the length of adhesive, pressing down so hard, his fingertips paled.

"I know a way," Carl said.

Rick frowned at him inquiringly.

"To save part of her, at least… for Judith. It's important that Judith knows how much she meant to Beth and how much Beth meant to all of us." He paused. "Loribeth."

"Loribeth?" Though there was none in his face, there was a hint of lightness in Rick's tone.

"As in Judith Loribeth Grimes. What do you think?"

Rick stepped close to Carl and unearthed his burgeoning smile. He gave his son a squeeze and then lightly tugged on the brim of his hat. "I think you'd better go tell your sister she has a middle name as beautiful as she is."

Carl mirrored Rick's expression, sorrow momentarily fleeing from his features as well. As he headed for one of the two truncated hallways, Carl's lips curved even further upward as his sharp hearing caught his father muttering the name "Loribeth" once more.

Minutes later, after he had blocked, taped, and drawn curtains over the last windows in the foyer, Rick turned around to work on the remaining individual rooms and bumped right into Michonne. Each apologized, emitting a childlike, breathy laugh. Then, realizing how close in proximity they were to one another, as well as to the others exploring the day care, Michonne sauntered backward until they were feet apart. Their agreement about waiting to divulge the true nature of their relationship had increased in relevancy in the wake of Beth's death—Carl and the others had enough on their minds without trying to process the depth of Rick and Michonne's bond, too.

"I think it's pretty," she said.

"Thanks, I did the best I could with these thangs—"

"The name, bighead. It's very pretty."

"Oh." Rick furrowed his brow in embarrassment. "Of course. I mean, yes, it is. I'm… sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

His countenance soured. "There's plenty to be sorry about. This whole day, for starters."

"You know what I meant."

"Where're Carl and Judith?"

Michonne gestured toward the second hallway. "There's a supply closet down there a ways. They're workin' on a couple of projects inside: Carl picked up a couple of sticks from outdoors—using string to fashion them into a cross to mark Beth's grave—aaand Judith is finger painting."

"She's what?"

"Your daughter is painting a picture, albeit with old watercolors. We found a case with paints that hadn't cracked, poured in a capful of water, and let her have at it. I know a thing or two about these things, Rick, and between survival and art, you've got some talented kids on your hands."

"Your water… You didn't have to do that."

"It was worth it."

And it was, for the entire Grimes family. Even in different rooms, they currently wore matching smiles.

Rick closed the distance between them to brush a swatch of dreadlocks over her shoulder. "Thank you."

She nodded and beckoned him to follow her into the main office.

"It's the room with the widest windows… aside from the playroom," she told him as they entered the blue-and-white space.

Before shutting the door, Rick glanced at the cluttered kids' room diagonal to the office. "How are they?"

"The same."

Rick cast his eyes to the side. "I don't know if it'll make a difference, but at least this trip to Washington will give us all somethin' else to focus on, work toward."

Michonne sucked in a deep breath. Nevertheless, all the energy drained from her voice as she spoke. "Rick, there's something you need to know about Eugene…"

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As Glenn neared the playroom, a door closed to his right. Unwilling to let himself be distracted, the young man braced himself for his reappearance at Maggie's side. He'd wanted to give her the space to be with her sister one last time, but also knew he shouldn't stray too far away—they needed to be together now. He felt it.

Graying light dulled the formerly vibrant expanse. Shadows pulled away from crusty toys. The air was stale, unbroken by sound or signs of life. Glenn found everything about the scene to be unnatural and unnerving, particularly the overwhelming ambience of decay despite the presence of two potent, living beings. As he crept closer and closer to the backsides of the kneeling duo, a chill played through his bones. Death. The death of innocence, of the future... This place reeked of undoing.

They needed to leave—_now_.

"Maggie? Maggie?"

He reached for her, but halted at the lifelessness in her voice. "No."

Another shiver shot down his spine. Glancing at Beth's rigid, colorless form, Glenn urged his wife to come with him.

"I wanna be with Beth."

"Maggie, you _can't_ stay in here."

After a long pause during which she stared down at Beth's hand, Maggie carefully replaced her sister's bandaged appendage and arose sluggishly. "I wanna be alone." She lumbered out of the playroom, toward the foyer.

From the doorframe, Glenn watched her disappear through a door marked with a sign penned in red crayon: WARNING: STAFF ONLY. He receded back into the playroom.

"Daryl?" As he advanced upon the kneeling figure enshrouded in shade, he extended a hand in the hopes that Daryl would sense his looming touch and lash out at him similarly to how Rick did after losing Lori. Glenn didn't care about the repercussions; he just wanted to awaken a pulse—some proof of life— in this tomb of a room.

But his hand arrived at Daryl's shoulder without incident, and though he was within Glenn's grasp, in this makeshift mausoleum, it was as if there was nobody or nothing to hold on to at all.

Glenn departed from the spiritless space, retreating to the day care restroom. He thudded dolefully onto the toilet seat, bowed his head, and grieved for untried angels and living ghosts.

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Having sifted through every area except for the playroom, basement, bathroom, and supply closet, Carol and Noah were relieved to have selected the room the Grimes children occupied. Intruding upon the sublimation of suffering was far easier than attempting to bulldoze through its stillness.

"Hey, guys," Carl said somberly.

Noah nodded while Carol asked warmly, "What's going on in here?"

Judith smiled at them before slapping her damp, discolored hands against the white sheet in front of her. A smile flickered across Carl's face as well. "We're putting the finishing touches on some decorations for Beth's... for Beth. Judith's painting a picture and I made her this cross. I'm gonna wrap this—" he held up a string attached to a crudely fashioned paper music note "—around it, too. The people who walk by… who see th-the grave… I want them to know she sang. That she could."

Carol carefully sank to the floor and wrapped Carl in a hug. Stunned into silence by the boy's tribute, Noah stood unmoving but moved.

"Yeah, I uh, just think she'd like that," Carl continued, quickly wiping his eyes with his thumb.

Carol smiled sadly. "She would," she assured him. Giving Judith's head a caress, she added, "And she would've loved this picture, too." Carol stared down at the water-laden green-and-yellow swirls until Noah cleared his throat.

"Um, Carol? Didn't you say there was something you wanted to look for in here, something specific?"

"Yes."

Noah and Carl watched Carol rifle through the remainder of blankets on the shelves against the back wall. The younger of the two inquired about what she was seeking.

"I was hoping to turn up something in yellow," she responded.

Noah's skin prickled. "Yellow? We can't wrap her in yellow; that'd be disrespectful."

"Why?" asked Carl.

"It's the color of cowards," Noah said darkly.

Bundling a number of thin sheets under one arm and draping a knitted gold afghan over the other, Carol turned to face them. "Yellow is also the color of hope."

"And it was her favorite," Carl chimed in.

"Oh," Noah uttered and stepped back into the hall as Carol made her way across the room.

"We'll be back," she directed to Carl.

"Okay," he mumbled, his attention and hand buried deep in a box full of colored cellophane.

Carol looked on as Carl snipped off a piece from the yellow roll and began to encase his music note within the wrapping. Grabbing up tape to use as sealant, he didn't at all notice the door close.

This time around, as the duo peeped into the playroom, they found it to be vacant apart from Beth's body. They gazed down at the young woman, at the blond hair fanning beneath her like silken rays of sunshine, and processed her gentle expression of valiant peace.

Before pulling the golden blanket over her head and torso, Carol pecked Beth's forehead. She then strode from the room as quickly as she could.

Tears brimmed in Noah's eyes as he considered his liberator. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. He cried quietly but without restraint. "T-thank you, Beth. Thank you."

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In spite of the Washington revelation and Rick's subsequent sullenness, he and Michonne had sufficiently papered the room, or at least that's what they thought until Rick spotted a shaft of gray light spilling in from the corner of one of the highest windows. Michonne observed Rick in confusion as he stretched to reach the breach with their last bit of poster board. She prepared to give him a lift by pushing one of the office desks his way, but stopped once he cursed and flung the board to the floor. He turned to her, his red-rimmed eyes moist with fresh heartache.

"We were right there, Michonne," he whispered. "_Right there_ with her. But she just… slipped through our fingers."

"It sounds like you didn't even know what happened until it happened."

"After all this time, after everything she musta done to survive on her own…"

"Rick, you can't control how—"

"Everythang… it's all just empty, like none of it matters."

Michonne cocked her head warningly. "Don't."

Rick leaned forward. "I can't protect you. I can't protect them, or even my own children. It doesn't matter what we do—make all the right calls, prepare for all the right thangs, do everythang we can to make sure it all lines up, and even when it does, it doesn't. It won't." His eyes glazed over. He drifted away. "It'll never end."

"What else are we gonna do?" Michonne asked earnestly. "We can't kill _everyone_. We need to be able to trust, Rick, or we're never gonna make it."

"Make it where?" he asked cynically. "Nowhere, that's where…"

"Oh, don't give me that—"

"We can never stop, Michonne. You know that. You knew that from the time we met and before that."

Michonne planted her feet, dull frustration seeping into her determined features. "What I know is that _you_ need to stop."

"Stop what? Facin' the truth?"

Impassioned by her partner's delusion, Michonne set her voice ablaze. "There is _always_ going to be a Dawn out there, or a Gareth, or a Governor, and we're not always going to—"

"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" Rick shouted. He had begun to tremble as a terrible mixture of anger, angst, and fear churned within him.

Michonne softened. "It's like running in place. If we never stop, we won't really get anywhere, and we'll _lose_. Sometimes people are ready to just die; sometimes they're not. You are not ready. _We_ are not ready."

"_She_ wasn't ready." Rick twisted around, swiping the back of his hand across his face. He braced himself against the nearest desktop. "We were right there… Maybe if we woulda left—just ignored Dawn and kept a gun on her until we rounded the corner…"

"I know you want that moment back—"

"I want a lotta moments back. Don't you?"

Rick hadn't even needed to finish his sentence before all her worst pains and shames rose up inside Michonne. She thought of how much she regretted asking Hershel to take a drive with her to burn the flu victims' bodies in the woods; of her miscommunications with Andrea about Woodbury; and worst of all, leaving Andre in the care of the disconsolate Mike and Terry while she went out on a run…

"Yes, I do," she said.

Detecting a note of grim gravity in her tone, Rick raised his head.

Just as he'd done seconds ago, Michonne batted away a tear. Still, she held her head high.

Exhaling a soft apology, he started to go to her, but she made it to him first.

She gripped his shoulders. "But when all is said and done, what we've got now are moments, and some of them are good. We _can_ be safe, for moments, and every piece of time is always worth fighting for, especially every minute spent with your children, every second they feel safe." She paused and clenched her teeth, ignoring the inquisitive concern in Rick's eyes. "You made it safe for them once and we'll do it again—make a place, find a place, some way, somewhere, but there's more to this than loss. You showed me that. I've watched you make moments, Rick, that in this hell are _miracles_. You may not believe it, but it's true. You need to continue doing that. We _can_ do that."

Rick enfolded Michonne in his arms. They held one another close, brightening the room with their united light, their secret shine.

"Back at the prison, Beth reminded me pain is part of loving people," Michonne murmured, guiding her words into Rick's ear. "_Life_ is pain. _Death_ is pain. _This_ is pain, but we're still here. We can still be here, and we can still move forward."

He lifted his head from her shoulder and searched her shrewd eyes; he believed he saw truth.

Rick took Michonne's face into his hands and put all of the gratitude, passion, and power of their time—every single one of their moments—into an eloquently and elegantly executed kiss. As their lips parted, he tenderly bumped his forehead to hers and whispered, "_This_ is not pain."

Michonne smiled briefly and gently placed her hands over his. With poignant clarity, she corrected him: "This _moment_ is not pain."

Witnessing the love and loss that flicked through Rick's blue eyes, Michonne embraced him again.

Together they stood strong, illuminated, enveloped in their own silent sound—a heartsong swelling into a symphony celebrating the first moments of the rebirth of faith and devotion.

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Glenn had been standing in the middle of the rickety basement staircase for over ten minutes before Maggie, slumped over on the very last step, finally addressed him. "Leave," she said hoarsely.

"No." His tone was sensitive but unyielding.

Maggie shot him a look, half of her woebegone visage cloaked in shadow. "I want you to _go_."

Glenn descended a step. "I'm not going anywhere, even if we have to be here all night. I'm not leaving you." Softly, he added, "Ever."

"DON'T say that!" Maggie cried. Folding over into a ball on her perch, she then truly cried. "Don't say that…"

Heading further downward into the dirt-covered, web-laden, musty-smelling darkness, Glenn settled into a crouch in front of Maggie. He gripped her knees. Gradually, her hands slipped from the back of her head down onto his hands.

"I feel like I killed her," she admitted brokenly.

"You _didn't_."

"No, I did, in a way. I assumed she was dead after the Governor tore down the prison, and then even after Daryl told me at Terminus that she had been alive the last time he'd seen her. I ask myself why and all I come up with is how much I hate myself for believin' so little in her, her survival skills… If I'd had a little more faith, we could've gotten to her earlier! We should never have gone with Abraham's group…"

Her husband pursed his lips, his eyes plunging to the soiled floor.

Maggie shook her head a touch. "Glenn, I don't blame you. You made a call to stop them fightin'… We didn't know it was gonna be…"

Even still, Glenn apologized.

Maggie appreciated the purity in his kind brown eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched. "It was different with you. I knew I was gonna find you because I could feel you. After the shock of Daddy… of the attack and after everythin' wore off, I could feel you were there, alive somewhere." The warmth in her voice faded. "I couldn't feel Beth. I always wondered why, but now I think it's 'cause I gave up on her. I didn't mean to. Everythin' was comin' at us and I didn't wanna feel that hope, so I didn't."

Glenn smoothed her hair as guilt choked her tone.

"And t-then when I actually start thinkin' I was gonna see her again… she's gone. She's _gone_. It's all gone…" She accepted his embrace and confessed her tortured perspective. "I did this—I let the hope die. I lost enough of it along the way to cost my sister her life… I let her die, I let it all die…"

Holding his wife closely, Glenn failed to notice the figure that, at the sound of Maggie's sobs, had come to materialize in the basement doorway.

"It'll only die if you stop here, if you _stay_ here. Take all the time you need, but don't you forget how to live. Don't you dare stop fighting. We can't let this world kill us. We need to live—_you_ need to live, for Beth, for Hershel, for us… for you! Family is everything, now more than ever."

Maggie's ragged breaths quieted; believing her to be listening, Glenn eagerly continued.

"They saved so many lives, _gave_ so much life, that—"

He jumped at the sudden realization that someone was standing at the top of the stairs. Gazing down at them, fresh tears blurring his sight, was Daryl. For the first time in hours, he opened his mouth to speak.

"She made…" Words hitched in his throat. "She made me…"

Maggie swiveled around and, connecting to the resounding pain that was her own, made an abrupt dash up the staircase to meet him. Close to the top, she bent her ankle on one of the weakened wooden steps, but Daryl's hand whipped out and pulled her up the rest of the way. Face-to-face, he assured his savior's sister, "She gave it back to me."

"What'd she give back?"

"Everything."

Maggie embraced him. They held each other up through the shrill gasps, the squeaky sobs, and the bitter agony until Glenn joined them, encircling an arm around each of their backs, steering them away from the darkness down below.

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All of the survivors had returned by dusk. After a half-hearted meal in the candlelit foyer, Glenn tentatively gathered the group in the now-secure playroom. He placed a delicately crafted buttercream candle on the side of Beth that faced the others and then passed out sheets of paper.

Glimpsing the crayoned lyrics, Maggie slowly clapped a hand to her mouth. "'The Partin' Glass?'"

"You two sang this back at the prison," Glenn said, "and it was beautiful. It deserves a reprise."

To his hushed delight, she nodded in agreement.

Abraham, however, drew him over to the side. "I get what you're tryin' to do here, but it's not gonna help." His fiery blue eyes dimmed. "Nothing is going to help this kind of pain."

Glenn considered him, his defiance as respectful as ever. "It will help… even if just for the moment. You don't have to do this if you don't want to, but we're gonna."

Slipping out of the sergeant's grasp, the young man took his wife in the crook of his arm and motioned for everyone to join them on the floor. They created a semicircle around the small shrine with Maggie and Glenn in the middle; Tara, Rosita, Abraham, Carol, and Daryl sat to their right while Sasha, Tyreese, Michonne, Carl, Judith, and Rick reposed to their left. Eugene, Noah, and Father Gabriel self-consciously positioned themselves behind the others.

After a few beats of silence, Glenn angled his head toward Maggie and slowly began to sing. Refusing to choke on her grief in this instant, Maggie focused not on her streaming tears but instead on the remembrance of her dear sister's honeyed sound. If she could not save Beth in life, she would save her—her memory—in death. And so she sang, too, entwining her mournful yet melodious harmony with her husband's. They were quickly joined by another.

Crooning along, Carl, who wore Beth's music note for the occasion, stared at his cooing sister as she reclined in their father's lap. From either side of him, Rick and Michonne locked eyes for a second before unlocking their rich voices.

Carol's pleasant mellowness emerged next, her attention flitting smoothly back and forth between the lyric sheet and Daryl, who slouched stoically beside her, his head resting against the wall.

Inspired by Carol, Noah and Father Gabriel entered the song in unison, followed immediately by Eugene, who just wanted to be part of _something_ once again.

Rosita's dulcet pitch surprised Abraham; noting his reaction, the young woman snaked her arm through his and held the lyrics under his nose. With chocolate-drop eyes, she asked him to try, and when he hummed, she smiled.

Within the first verse, everyone except Daryl had lent his or her voice to honor Beth's; however, the tacit warrior had just tuned in to an alternative channel.

Though low and secluded, the dirge had brought on something dire: walkers.

Seething, Daryl sprang up and stalked out of the room, attracting the attention of a few others. Carol simultaneously pulled a knife and signaled for the group to wait. She exited the playroom as well.

Carol followed after Daryl as he marched out the door, around the front, and right into the small throng of walkers stumbling toward the side of the center. She kept her weapon out, but neither hindered nor helped him slay the creatures, instead watching him spear head after head, forever silencing each gaping maw that dared to interrupt the echoes of Beth's soul.

In no time, Daryl's war grunts petered into whimpers, and once he had crushed the eleventh and final walker beneath his boot, he reeled backward, turned, and collapsed to his knees, panting.

Step by step, Carol came to him. They could in fact vaguely hear the survivors' choir through the blocked windows; by coincidence… or perhaps not, Carol raised Daryl to his feet just as the singers inside intoned the word "'_rise_.'"

They returned to their family for the last lullaby-like line. Daryl squeezed Carol's hand with one of his own, and in the other he held Beth's hair tie balled tightly in his fist.

The group was on a long road to resurrecting hope—the best of humanity—and bound for many bumps and more heartbreak along the way, but for this moment, they were together as one, just as their sweetest savior had always wanted.

XXX

**A/N**: Written mostly to these songs: "The Parting Glass" by Emily Kinney and Lauren Cohan; "Home" by Gabrielle Aplin; "Serpents (Basement)" by Sharon Van Etten; "The Troubles" by U2; "Remember Me" by Anadel; and, interestingly, "Cups (When I'm Gone)" by Anna Kendrick


End file.
